Burn
by julietlumos
Summary: Summary inside. Post-Hogwarts, Post-Battle, AU, Canon Divergence, Canon Character Death, Dramione, Past Fremione.
1. Prologue (Draco's POV)

Seven months after the Second Wizarding War, Draco Malfoy struggles with his personal demons while watching his longtime enemy Hermione Granger deal with hers. He's always longed to be close, to know her, and now that the war is over and the Wizarding World has changed, he has his chance.

Hermione still mourns the loss of Fred, the love of her life, and her sense of self. When Draco comes into the picture, she's more than reluctant to consider his help. But since her friends are struggling, she lets Draco in, keeping him only an arms length away, for fear she might break him too. Gradually, they break each others walls down, and they both begin to heal in the face of opposition, realizing they needed each other more than they knew.

But when a new threat emerges and the Wizarding World is thrust into danger once again, can they maintain the peace they've worked hard for, or will it all burn to the ground?

* * *

I watched her from afar, every second of every day. She mesmerized me, starting from the moment I met her all those years ago. I couldn't let any of my cohorts know that a Muggleborn had caught my affections before, but now that the Wizarding world had changed, I was free to pursue.

Things were different after the war; people began rebuilding shattered lives, or making new ones, some even left Britain for a new start. The ones that remained behind still dealt with the pain and loss, working through it in ways that the rest of us vaguely understood. Some turned to drink, others to unmentionable practices, but we never passed judgement. The war had been hard and had left everyone in some sort of destitute state.

Fortunately, my family hadn't suffered too much of a blow to finances or lodging. But our reputation was smeared nonetheless. People openly ogled me, looking away only when I met their glares and looks of disdain. They stared, not because of who I was, but because of a curse I had been gifted with shortly after the Battle; a long, jagged red scar, marring my once fair face, and it was my burden to carry it, as a sort of shame. It let everyone know where my allegiances had once lain, and the punishment that had soon followed for my misplaced loyalty.

She never noticed though. In fact, it seemed she never noticed me at all. I could count on both hands the many times I'd passed her in Diagon Alley, occasionally brushing against her warmth, and she'd never once glanced or given me passing note.

I hoped each time I saw her, I would hear her beautiful bell of a voice, singing my name in a ringing alto. But none of that sweet, opulent music flowed from her cupid's bow lips; not one single utterance.

I hadn't heard her speak, really, after the war. She never spoke, never said one thing to anyone in public. Everyone knew she wanted to be left alone, war heroine or not, and some speculated it was due to trauma and loss. She'd been involved with the elder Weasley twin, Fred, and she mourned him. Her sadness had been broadcast to the entirety of Wizarding Britain by the loathsome Rita Skeeter, eager for any sort of publicity to give credit to her dying career, but the plot itself had backfired horribly. Rita had been put out, shunned by many a publisher, and droves of her former loyal fans had crucified her, refusing to pick up any of her works and condemning any attempts at redemption she made.

All those that had been against Hermione Granger were now for her, only because she had saved their miserable arses. But they didn't see her like I did. They saw her as fragile, even though her reputation contradicted that greatly. I saw her to be strong, a testament to perseverance in the face of pity. She was never the wilting flower, never the damsel in distress.

She made it look easy, dealing with grief; much like a knife cutting through butter. Flawless correction, easy execution. She was everything I'd hoped, wanted, loved. She had been the Hermione Granger everyone knew at one point; intelligent, vivacious, brave, strong. And I had been Draco Malfoy, cunning, smart, skillful, powerful. Now, we both were burning and broken, grasping for a sense of who we were before the war.

I wanted to know her, to start over. But she never let me in.

And I would soon change that.


	2. Collide (Hermione's POV)

I hurried past the usual throng of people that gathered during my morning commute, hoping that just like yesterday, none would notice my presence. Someone bumped into me and I scowled, but kept on, refusing to confront or talk to the person that had rudely interrupted my strolling.

I made it to my destination and opened the door, the tiny tinkling bell ringing, and I looked around for a mess of red hair, but saw none. Felicity was behind the counter and I murmured a quick hello before pushing past, heading for the stairs that led to a tiny flat above the shop, hoping to find George Weasley.

Opening the door of the flat quietly and slowly, I peeked around the onyx wood before announcing my presence.

"George? It's me, Hermione. Are you up here?" I entered the flat, closing the door behind me, standing in silence. A muffled bang from the other room startled me and I shrieked, reaching for my wand and automatically pointing it at the door to my left.

George emerged, his red hair blackened at the tips and sizzling, his face covered in ash. "Hello Hermione."

I lowered my wand shakily, grasping at my chest. I swallowed and holstered my wand, brushing a ringlet out of my face. "George. What were you doing?"

"I- erm, nothing. Just a new product." George walked past to the bathroom, turning on the faucet. "You're early."

I shrugged and watched as George washed the black ash off his face. "I couldn't stand being around Ron. He still won't forgive me."

George patted his face dry, turning to me. "Give him time, 'Mione. He's still mourning, just like you and me."

I nodded and glanced forlornly towards the second bedroom, not daring to look at George. "Can we not talk about it? Please?"

I could feel the burning in my eyes, and the ache in my chest. Fred was not a subject I wished to discuss, much like George, but Ron couldn't understand why I had chosen Fred over him. That had been the subject of our morning row, and I had rushed out of the Burrow's door, my eyes full of tears as I apparated to Diagon Alley, seeking comfort from the remaining twin.

"Did Mum lay into him? Or was she passive as usual?" George said, walking to the kitchen and I followed him, sitting down at the kitchen table and watching as George pulled out a skillet, eggs and bacon.

"She said nothing. Just watched. When I left, she looked at me sadly and then went upstairs." I sighed, cradling my face in my hands. "Harry was gone before I woke up, and Ginny wouldn't come out of her room."

George stilled, and turned to me, his brow furrowed. "They've not been fighting again, have they?"

I peeked through my fingers at George, before slowly letting them slide from my face. I fidgeted with them for a bit till George cleared his throat, and I looked at him.

"Last night, Harry struck her."

George clenched the edge of the kitchen counter and ground his teeth, his gaze cold and hard. He turned away from me and set to work on making breakfast, banging things against the countertop, angrily mumbling words that I couldn't hear.

I got up and walked closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. He relaxed and he turned around, hugging me. We stood like that for a moment before I spoke quietly, rubbing his back.

"He didn't mean it, you know. Harry loves her. He just…"

"Lost control?" George offered, and I nodded, continuing to rub his back. "Seems like he's been doing that often lately."

I stopped and let go of George. We both knew that Harry had been having problems adjusting after the war, and Ginny had been patiently trying to help in the months after. But lately Harry had been slipping even more, lashing out and becoming violent, and it had been affecting his magic. He refused to go to a Head Healer, citing that he was fine, that it would all come to pass. Everyone in the Burrow knew better though.

"I've been trying to talk to him, George. He won't let me in."

"He's not letting anyone in, Hermione. Hell, he flipped out on Ron for even looking at him wrong when I came round the other day." George turned to a cabinet and pulled out bottle of some sort, taking a deep swig from it. "This war affected him worst, I'd think. He's not the same."

 _'Neither am I,'_ I thought to myself.

I left George's flat an hour later and waved goodbye to Felicity, my stomach full from the breakfast George had prepared for me. I exited Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and made my way to Flourish and Blotts, hoping to pick up a book.

The street was quiet, save for the occasional mum and her child, and I was thankful for it. Not many witches or wizards ventured outside of their homes, still fearing that Voldemort would come back, even after seven months of peace. Some areas of Diagon Alley were still destroyed, the dark magic that was used to demolish most of the business too damaging for regular magic to overcome.

But the few places that hadn't been touched by dark magic remained eerily empty, such as Knockturn Alley, which had been evacuated last month. The new Ministry, headed by Kingsley, decided that Knockturn Alley only served as a breeding ground for illegal activities, and would hold no purpose for the new Wizarding world. So he sent in several volunteer Aurors, Ron amongst them, to clear out all the business and evict any people living there. Borgin and Burkes was the first business to go, and the Ministry had shown no mercy. The Aurors had burned everything in the shop, every cursed item that was unable to be destroyed taken back to the Ministry and put away, far from anyone wishing to use the items for evil.

That didn't stop squatters and people trying to make money from using it as a place to live or sell their wares. Most vendors were friendly, others, on the other hand, were prejudiced, clinging on to the old ideals that had spurred the war on in the first place.

I pondered visiting Knockturn Alley, just to see if any new vendors had popped up, but was interrupted mid thought by a flash of platinum blond and I was knocked to the ground, my shoulder smarting. I looked up at the person I collided with and froze, my arm burning in memory.

Draco Malfoy stared down at me with grey, sorrow filled eyes, his hand extending out to help me up. I stared back, noticing the long, red scar on his face, extending from his cheekbone down to his chin.

I shivered, my arm still burning faintly from the scar his aunt had forcefully bestowed upon me, and I refused his hand, instead standing up on my own. Without a word, I brushed myself off and pushed past him, tears threatening to fall, and my heart beating fast. Flashbacks to Malfoy Manor flooded my mind, and my breath came in fast, short pants, my heart throbbing against my chest, threatening to burst forth from my ribs. My vision blurred, black around the edges, and I wobbled, trying to regain balance by leaning against a post.

The Head Healer had told me that these episodes I had were panic attacks, something I already knew, and had given me a potion I had to carry around with me at all times, to quell the attacks.

I fumbled with my purse, desperately searching for the small black bottle, but my attempts were fruitless. I had left the last remaining bottle back at the Burrow, and I could feel my chest tightening and my limbs become stiff.

A strong hand turned me around and a liquid was forced down my throat, instantaneously calming me before I passed out from oxygen deprivation.

I clutched at the person who saved me, my vision swimming and watery, and I wiped my eyes, taking shuddering breaths as I curled into the stranger's touch, trying to center and gather myself.

The hand that had grabbed me began rubbing my back and I instantly went into panic mode, my old instincts kicking in as I spun out of the stranger's grasp and turned my wand on them.

I was face to face with Draco Malfoy once again and my heart dropped into my stomach. I had my wand pointed at his throat, and his chest was steadily rising, his eyes wide in fear and wonderment. I glared at him, breathing heavily, before turning away quickly and running fast, running past Flourish and Blotts, past all the broken buildings, and into Knockturn Alley, all the while ignoring his calls after me.


	3. Vision (Draco's POV)

She had bumped into me earlier that morning, her sweet, honey scent clinging to my coat where she had touched me, and I had hoped she would turn and yell, or even look at me.

She didn't even bother to stop, but kept walking.

I bumped into her again while exiting Madame Malkin's, and she fell to the ground, her cheeks pink as she slowly looked up at me. Bewilderment crossed her face, and her arm twitched. My heart ached, for I knew why it moved. The memory of my aunt Bellatrix must have been too painful, so she ignored my extended hand. She got up without a word and walked past me.

It wasn't until she had walked four more feet that I became worried. She stopped and leant against a post, clutching at her chest, her breathing erratic. She probably didn't realize that she was sobbing, her cries piercing the lonely street like a caterwaul.

I saw her fumble for her bag and knew what she was looking for, because I carried it too. Hermione Granger wasn't the only one who suffered panic attacks, and I knew I had to act quickly.

I grabbed her, spinning her around and pouring the black potion down her throat, watching as she calmed and grabbed at my chest, her sobs dwindling and her breathing slowing.

It was a mistake, touching her, but I just wanted to feel her, to know that she was there, in my arms, even if she was unaware that it was me. But the moment my hand connected, she flinched and drew her wand on me.

Fear froze my body, but wonder controlled my brain. She looked fierce, battle ready, all from a single touch. My heart broke when she frowned and turned, sprinting away from me.

I longed to touch her again, and as my calls went unheeded, I knew that I had mucked up any chance.

What hurt most was the way she looked at my scar. She knew what it symbolized, and that wasn't a shock. What hurt me was that she looked at it, and then me, in disgust, as if I were a monster.

My scars are external, but Hermione Granger's are internal.

8888888

I Apparated to the Manor, where silence greeted me, which I welcomed wholeheartedly. Our House Elves had been released at the end of the war, and that just left my mother and I as the Manor's inhabitants.

My father sits in a cell in Azkaban, much to my mother's grief. Potter hadn't been merciful enough to let my father stay a free man, and I didn't blame him. Even so, my scar was punishment enough for the Malfoy family, seeing as I was the sole heir and offspring. I would bear the shame for years to come, and every time someone looked at me, they would know what side I fought for (reluctantly) in the war.

I shrugged out of my coat and carried it with me up the stairs, hoping to find my mother in the study.

"Mother?" I called out, but I was met with silence. No doubt, she was not here.

The manor felt cold and empty, touched by The Dark Lord's brief, albeit lingering, influence. The halls didn't hold that comforting feeling that they once had, the rooms felt like prisons. The dining hall felt foreign and dark, and I hated even being in it.

I mostly stayed in my room, safe from remembering, safe from knowing. His dark touch had never reached there, and for that I was glad. But even with Him gone, the nightmares lingered. The screams of those he tortured in my home echoed like ghosts against the walls, never leaving, never letting me forget.

Many a night I woke up in a cold sweat sometimes screaming, as faces of those who had died here and around me haunted every dream I had, every waking thought. My cursed scar always burned after each episode, as a reminder to the atrocities I allowed to happen.

But was I really to blame? I could argue that I was influenced from a young age to be prejudiced, to look upon those who weren't part of my social circle with scorn, to spurn those with non magical blood.

So was it really my burden to carry? Was I actually to blame for the sins of my father, and his father before him? I was born into prejudice, born into evil. I was merely a child, warped by age old notions, and I paid for it in blood and tears.

In a way, I wondered if this is how Potter felt. He was thrust into martyrdom, born into adversity. He was chosen to lead as a child, he had no say in his destiny. He paid for it with his life, and came out with a clean soul.

But if the news rags are to be believed, he didn't come out completely unscathed. Years of trauma and pressure seemed to have taken his toll, and he's not the same mentally.

But then again, none of us are; we were merely children, fighting for a new world.

I finally make it to my room, closing the door behind me, bathing myself in the cold dark. The bed looked inviting, but it was only morning, and I had other things to do.

I went to the large mahogany desk in front of the black-curtained window, and pulled out the top drawer. The small black dagger winked at me, inviting me with its cold, silver glare. My hand twitched, and my arm stung from memory. I swallowed, and pushed the dagger to the side, instead grabbing the wrinkled envelope with elegant scrawl on the front, bearing my name.

It was a letter from Pansy. I had received it six months ago, shortly after she and her family had fled to Germany to avoid prison. I hadn't sent one in return, knowing that my movements and letters were being watched, and I wanted to avoid giving away her position. Even though we had lost, loyalty still was a must, and I couldn't bear the thought of my closest friend being thrown into prison.

But now that I had been cleared of any wrongdoing, I could write back to her and assure her that I was alright.

I unfolded the sandy brown parchment, tracing my fingers over her script, rereading the letter.

 _ **Dearest Draco,**_

 _ **By the time you get this, I will have already gone to Germany with my family. Britain isn't safe for us anymore, and I risk imprisonment by being there.**_

 _ **I know Blaise will be there with you, and you'll take comfort in him. He will provide for you the support that I cannot, and I do regret leaving you suddenly and without notice.**_

 _ **Just know I still care deeply for you and wish you nothing but good. You have and always will be my dearest friend.**_

 _ **Yours,**_

 _ **Pansy**_

My hands trembled; knowing that Pansy was somewhere that ensured she would never remember the horrors of the war on a daily basis made me envious. I couldn't escape it, no matter how much I tried. Mother made sure of it, the Ministry too. The remaining Malfoys would never leave, they would stay and endure their shame.

I sat down and pulled out some parchment and a quill, dipping it in the thick black ink. I sat still for a moment, considering my words, before I set to work.

 _ **Pansy,**_

 _ **I do apologize for responding so late; I've been under close monitoring for the past six months and I didn't want to give away your position.**_

 _ **Blaise occasionally pops in to check on me, but even with his support I struggle, daily, just to exist. Everywhere I look, I see Him. The Dark Lord may be dead, but he still lingers in my mind. I do not think I'll forget him easily, much like the rest of us who survived, but I can only hope he will be gone soon.**_

 _ **Mother refuses to stay long in the Manor, it frightens her so. She pines day after day wishing for my father to come home, but it's all for nothing. He will stay in Azkaban for the rest of his life, and there is nothing we can do.**_

 _ **Pansy, I implore you to heed my next words, and not lay judgment on me too easily. I want to start again, with someone we've known for ages. She pretends I don't exist, only because she mourns someone lost in the Battle. I don't know how to get past her walls, how to get her to let me in. It's been months, Pansy.**_

 _ **I ask for your help, as your dearest friend, to win over Hermione Granger.**_

 _ **Yours,**_

 _ **Draco**_


	4. Time (Hermione's POV)

It had been three days since my encounter with Draco Malfoy, and I hadn't stepped foot in Diagon Alley since.

I only left the Burrow to go to London, to see Shaftesbury Avenue, to remember my father and the times he took me there.

But every time I passed the cafe, my chest tightened; the memory of the attack seemed fresh in my mind, even though it had been over a year ago. My hand automatically went to my wand, and I risked it many times being seen in public.

I couldn't bring myself to look for my parents, only to bring them back and wonder what happened to their daughter. I didn't want them to ask why bright lights or loud sounds made me scream, or why I woke up each night in a cold sweat, crying out for Fred, mourning all that I had lost. I didn't want them catching a glimpse of an odd word, carved crudely into my arm, asking how it got there. I didn't want them wondering why their once brave, outspoken daughter had been reduced to a timid and quiet creature, a shell of her former self.

For all those reasons, I wanted them to stay in Australia, stay until I could become more like the person I used to be, so that the questions they would ask couldn't bother me as much as they would now.

Staring into the fireplace, I wondered if they were happy, blissfully unaware of the destruction that had ravaged my world, blissfully unaware that they had a daughter.

Loud footsteps disrupted the silence of the early morning, and I turned to see Ron standing at the bottom of the stairs, his dressing gown loose, his hair tousled. He never slept easy, much like Harry and I, and I woke to him screaming, sometimes crying quietly into his pillow, unaware that I could hear him from Ginny's room.

He acknowledged me with a jerk of his head before shuffling sleepily to the kitchen, opening the icebox, no doubt looking for something to eat.

I uncurled myself from my spot on the couch, walking surreptitiously to the kitchen, hoping that there wouldn't be another argument between us this morning.

I put on the kettle and quietly moved around him, only muttering a 'thanks' when he handed me a mug. He sat down at the table, chewing on a leftover bit of shepherd's pie, ignoring me.

I sat down across from him, staring at the worn wood of the table, ignoring him as well. I knew that my being in his presence hurt him greatly, and it hurt me equally too.

At one point I had imagined a future with Ron, somewhere near the end of our fifth year. I had been set, so set on being with him, but he had mucked it up by being with Lavender. Then Fred came along, comforting me, and I fell for him, quickly.

Fred never hurt me, never cheated me. He listened, he loved me. Fred was the love of my life, and it had been hard, being away from him for a year. That year was the worst, and it had gotten better when we reunited at Hogwarts, only to have it end in tragedy.

A lump formed in my throat when I thought about Fred lying dead in the Great Hall, the ghost of his last smile on his face, and I began to cry, my soft sobs disrupting the quiet room.

Ron stopped eating, his fork halfway to his mouth, and he looked uncomfortable. He set his fork down and reluctantly reached across the table, taking my hand in his and stroking it with his thumb.

"Hermione…" he began, and I wiped my eyes, looking at our hands, sniffing. "I'm sorry."

I didn't look up at him, even though I could hear how much he meant it in his voice. I swallowed and took a shaky breath.

"I-I miss him," I began, my voice wavering, and I shook my head gently to clear the lingering thoughts, "and I know you do too, Ron."

Ron nodded, and I made eye contact, clearing my throat.

"But we can't go on like this. It's hurting you, it's hurting me. It's hurting your mum, your dad, Ginny, Harry, even… even George," I leaned forward, reaching for his other hand. "We need to get this out of the way. I love- loved, Fred- and there's nothing that will change that. You and I, we- we were never meant to be. It just wasn't in the cards for us." I could feel the tears falling again, and I could see Ron beginning to cry as well. "Please, please understand, he wouldn't have wanted us to go on like this. Hurting each other."

Ron sniffled, then nodded. "I know, 'Mione. It's just hard." He smiled, and held my hands tighter. "I keep thinking about what he would say if he was here: ' _Ron, stop being such a fucking tosser, you bloody idiot'."_

I laughed softly, watching as he laughed too, until we slipped back into silence, looking at our hands.

"He didn't die in vain, you know," a voice murmured behind me, and I turned to see Harry leaning against the doorway, a small smile on his face.

I smiled and nodded, jerking my head, motioning for him to sit down. He pulled out a chair and sat down, looking between Ron and I.

"Have you two made up?" he asked, and I nodded again.

"Something like that." The kettle began to whistle and I let go of Ron's hands, getting up to pour my tea. I turned, looking at Harry. "Want some?"

Harry nodded and I got another cup out of the cupboard, pouring him some tea. I set the mug down in front of him, settling myself back into my seat.

"Thanks 'Mione," he murmured, taking a sip.

We sat in silence, just enjoying each other's company until dawn broke, the rustling of the others awakening signaling the day was starting.

The first one to come downstairs was Molly, and she looked pleasantly surprised to see all three of us awake. She smiled at the three of us, but her face seemed to go stony when she looked at Harry. She still hadn't forgave him for striking Ginny, and he understood that and tried to amend things by making himself scarce whenever Molly was in the room.

Right on cue, Harry finished the last of his tea and got up, leaving the kitchen and going outside. Molly watched him go, knowing why he did it, and sat down in his spot when she could see him no longer.

She spoke after watching Ron and I for a few minutes, her voice tentative. "Well?"

Ron got up and put his dishes in the sink, sitting back down and looking to his mother. "We've made up. No more rows."

Molly smiled at her son and pat my hand gently, taking a sip from her cup of tea, seemingly deep in thought. "Hermione?"

I smiled at her. "Yes, Molly?"

She set her cup down and folded her hands together, her expression grave. "I've been thinking and… I think we should go through Fred's things."

The smile slipped from my face, and my hand clenched the handle of my teacup. "O-oh?"

Molly sighed softly, and held the my other hand, softly stroking it. "I know… I know it's hard. But, we have to do it, dear."

Ron started. "Mum I don't think-"

"Ronald, please, I think I know what's best." Molly spoke firmly, and I quickly got up without a word, and exited the kitchen.

I went outside into the front yard and kept walking, walking until my stocking feet were covered in water up to my knees from the small pond. I stopped, closed my eyes, and let the sounds of the morning wash over me, bathing me in serenity.

Molly had known about Fred and I long before anyone else did. She knew that his death had affected me the most, second to her and Arthur. So it astounded me that she thought it appropriate to spring this on me, knowing that I still hurt over Fred's death, knowing that the mere thought of him could bring me to tears.

A sudden rustling to my left sent me into automatic battle mode, and I opened my eyes, reaching for my wand, only to remember I had left it back at the Burrow. Panic set in and I began mentally mapping the way back to the house if I needed to escape.

"Who's there?" I demanded, watching as the tall blades of grass shifted, and a peek of platinum blonde made my heart stop.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that it was Luna Lovegood, not Draco Malfoy.

"Hello Hermione." Luna said in her usual, dreamy tone, treading lightly into the water beside me. "What are you doing out here all by your lonesome? And in your socks?" She looked down at my socked feet, and I at her bare ones.

"Luna, aren't you cold?" I looked her up and down again, taken slightly aback by her choice of outfit. She wore a dark blue summer frock with black leggings, and no jumper.

She looked me up and down in return. "Aren't you?" She countered, and I smiled.

"I guess so. Hadn't really noticed it before you pointed it out."

"Funny how things work that way, isn't it?" Luna kicked at the cold water, and giggled delightfully. "I think it's the Wrackspurts at work again."

I nodded, vaguely remembering what a Wrackspurt was. "Why are you here? Did you walk the entire way over here?"

Luna smiled. "No, silly. I Apparated. How silly… walking over that large hill in December! What a notion!" She cocked her head to the side and peered into my eyes, a small frown on her face.

"You're sad," she observed, and I looked away but nodded.

"I am sad, Luna."

"Why?"

"Because…" I didn't know how to answer her without breaking down into tears. "Because it's cold."

Luna's frown deepened, but she accepted my pathetic excuse anyway. "Cold drives away the garden gnomes. They don't like it much." She twirled around, as if searching for some, but stopped abruptly, staring at her reflection in the water.

An awkward silence settled between us as I watched Luna stare at herself in the water. Luna wasn't really the same, either, after the war. She became more… loony, in a sense. Sometimes she would space out even more, forget where she was or why she was there, and most of it I suspected had to do with the torture she'd endured at the hands of Death Eaters. But she never lost her sunny and dreamy disposition, something I envied her for.

I cleared my throat. "Luna, why are you here?"

She smiled at her reflection and looked at mine. "I've come to see Ron."

I chuckled. "Ron? Why on Earth would you come to see Ron?"

She looked up at me and cocked her head to the side again, searching my face. I felt vulnerable and I didn't like it.

"Something, like a feeling, told me to." She finally said, and turned to walk to the Burrow.

She paused, and turned back to me. "You know, he knows you miss him... Fred, I mean. But he'd want you to move on and be happy. Just like my mum wanted my father to do." And with that, she left.

I watched her go, my heart aching in my chest, and I followed her soon after.


	5. Snakes (Draco's POV)

"I dunno, Draco. Did she sound pissed?"

I scoffed, throwing a rock at the half frozen water, watching it break the thin ice. "Blaise, wouldn't you sound pissed in a Howler?"

Blaise shrugged, but smirked. "Maybe. I get Howlers from my mum, she never sounds angry." He picked a long piece of grass and began tearing it to bits. "But then again, she's always yelling so…"

I rolled my eyes and stood up, brushing my lap off and stretching. "Either way, Pansy gave me an earful, and she didn't sound very happy, to say the least."

Blaise stood up as well, brushing off the seat of his pants. "Well, can you blame her? You two have history. Imagine being her and not having any contact with you for six months, and to hear that you have intentions of dating a Muggleborn, one she's feuded with for the past seven years, is quite a shock to say the least."

I put my hands in my coat pockets, staring at the semi frozen lake. "No, I understand. But you'd think…" I sighed, and shook my head. "Nevermind."

Blaise cocked an eyebrow. "No, not nevermind. Out with it."

I sighed exasperatedly, but caved. "You'd think after seeing a majority of our classmates and people we know die because of that rhetoric, she'd gain a sense of compassion. Or at least be more understanding."

Blaise contemplated that for a moment. "But you and I both know Pansy has never been compassionate nor understanding. Not even where it counts." Blaise walked away, up over the small hill, and I followed suit, my breath becoming mere mist in the wintry air.

We walked for a few minutes, trying to keep warm, until Blaise stopped short. "Imagine, if you will, what might happen if you actually manage to woo Granger." I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up his hand.

"No, just please, imagine it. Are you actually prepared to deal with how fucked up she is? I know she's strong, Draco, but she's feeling a pain that no one else around her can actually relate to. Merlin, she saw her boyfriend die, the only man she's ever loved, and she's the only one who can claim that pain amongst her circle of friends." He continued to walk, taking a deep breath. "Are you fully prepared to deal with that?"

I didn't have an actual, truthful and sure answer for him. Because just like Granger, I had pain of my own too. And I didn't know if I would be able to push that aside if she needed me to.

"Well?" Blaise stopped again and turned to me, and I paused.

"I… I don't know." I stuttered out, and Blaise sighed, continuing to walk.

"You want something that you're not even sure you can handle, Draco. Don't rush into things." I merely nodded and followed him back to the Manor, eager to warm myself up by a hot fire, but his question still plagued my thoughts.

Even though Hermione was strong, what she had endured was more than enough to scar someone for life. What I had endured paled in comparison to the horrors she had been exposed to, and there would be no way I could just make it all go away with a simple kiss or a declaration of love.

Because that wasn't the way it worked when you went mental. You're torn, every fiber of your being is on fire, wrought with emotional and mental pain, and nothing can stop it. Some days you aren't even sure if what you're seeing is real, or if you're still stuck in that place, time, or event that made you mental.

There are times that I'll wake up and still think that my father is home, downstairs consorting with The Dark Lord, but then I remember he's in prison, the Dark Lord is dead, and everything is right with the world, at least in part. And it calms me.

But the pain of losing someone close to you, someone who you chose to forge an emotional bond with, someone that wasn't your family, that in itself could tear anyone apart. It would drive anyone to the point of insanity. And to be constantly reminded each day that the person you love is never coming back, simply because he's got a brother who looks just like him, is absolute torture.

Many of us lost things in the war; family, friends, possessions. Hermione lost almost everything, including herself.

We entered the Manor, silence greeting us like it had when I'd come in four days ago. Mother hadn't come home, and it made me wonder if she was over Aunt Andromeda's.

"Draco?"

"Yes, Blaise?" I shrugged off my coat and Blaise did the same as well.

"Why isn't your mum ever here?"

"I dunno. Memories maybe. It's painful for her to be here sometimes." I smoothed my hair back and began walking towards the study. "It's hard walking the same halls that a dark wizard did at one point. You can feel… Him, sometimes."

Blaise nodded and followed me, settling in the leather armchair opposite mine. "Does it bother you too?"

"Sometimes. I never really leave my room, it's the only place He hadn't gone." I took out my wand, and pointed it at the fireplace. " _Incendio."_

The fireplace roared to life, casting the dark room in a warm, orangish glow. Blaise groaned, standing up to get closer to the fire. He was silent, watching the flames lick at the ochre wood, before he spoke.

"Doesn't the fire bother you? After what happened in the Room of Requirement?"

I didn't answer right away, but his question did make me feel that same fear and uncertainty that I had felt back then. Wondering if I was going to die, my body set ablaze like Goyle's had been, wondering if that then was the end.

"No. Not as much as it used to." I leaned in the armchair, staring up at the high ceiling. "Goyle's death didn't hurt me as much as I thought it would. It was more or less the thought of dying in that place that scared me."

"We owe Potter our lives, as much as we might hate to admit it." Blaise sat back down in the chair, and I closed my eyes letting my body warm up. "It's a shame."

"What is?"

"That Weasley girl. She has to deal with him being mental."

"We're all mental Blaise. Mental for fighting and mental for living."

"True." Blaise sighed. I opened my eyes a bit to see him lean back as well, and shortly afterward, I began to hear him snore. I chuckled and closed my eyes again, willing sleep to come as easy as it had for him.

88888888

" _Draco, is this the mudblood you desire?" Aunt Bella snarled, grabbing my wrist and yanking me forward, so close to her, close enough that I could smell the rot in her teeth._

 _I refused to look at Granger, for fear my face would give away the emotions I felt for her. Aunt Bella noticed, and grabbed my face, forcing me to look at her._

" _Look, Draco! Is this the filthy Mudblood?!" Aunt Bella screamed, and I met Granger's gaze, and I felt sorry for her. Her eyes freely flowed with tears, her mouth open in a silent scream. I knew she wouldn't make a sound, afraid that Bellatrix would carve into her again. I swallowed, and I closed my eyes, my body shaking._

" _I- I don't know, Aunt Bella." Bellatrix let go of my face, shoving me away, scowling._

" _Useless. Just like your father." She pointed at the hall with her dagger, her face cruel and full of rage. "Leave my sight, you miserable waste of space."_

 _I cast a sorrowful glance at Granger before hurrying from the room, eyes watering and breath catching in my throat._

 _I didn't start crying until I closed my bedroom door behind me, curling up on the floor and sobbing into the carpet, Granger's screams reverberating in my skull, torturing me endlessly._

I woke up gasping, my body flushed and sweaty, the collar of my shirt sticking to my neck. I looked around, waiting for Bellatrix to slither out and hit me with an Unforgivable, but I found myself in the study, completely alone, save for Blaise.

I sat up, wiping my forehead with the sleeve of my shirt, and I glanced at Blaise, who was still fast asleep in his chair.

I leant forward, running my hands over my face, letting them travel to the back of my neck. That had been the fifth nightmare I'd had about Granger since our encounter in Diagon Alley. This one was different, unlike the others. It was more cruel, more vivid, and instead of me just hearing her screams from the torture she had experienced that day in the parlor, I'd witnessed it.

Mentally shaking myself, I stood up and walked over to the desk, sitting down in the ornate chair behind it.

I pondered how much more of this… this _torture_ my mind would subject me to. Watching Granger that day had been painful enough, but to relive it every time I closed my eyes was immeasurable.

I silenced that train of thought, realizing my pain had nothing on what Hermione Granger could claim. _She'd_ been the one on the floor, underneath Bella's unforgiving knife and twisted smile, not me.

Ultimately, I wondered who was there to comfort her when she had night terrors. Was it Potter? Or Weasley?

She and Potter were the closest of the trio, brother and sister. He could bring her comfort that no one else could that was currently alive.

Weasley would attempt it, but nothing could ever surpass what the deceased Weasley twin would have provided for her.

My heart twinged at the thought of Fred Weasley. I'd never known him personally, and any exchange I'd had with him during our school years had been brief and nasty. Hermione had been there for every one of them, and I'd noticed how fiercely and fondly she had looked at him defending her or her friends honor.

Many never thought in a million years that wildly brilliant and rule compliant Granger would ever consider going with rule breaking but equally brilliant Fred Weasley. I'd always thought that she'd end up with the Weasel, and I teased her mercilessly for it, much to her ilk.

I remembered how heartbroken she'd been with Weasley after he'd chosen Lavender Brown. Crying her eyes out near the Astronomy tower, Potter by her side, or at least I'd heard. Rumor had it that Fred had heard about the incident in a letter from the female Weasley, and struck up a correspondence with the bushy haired witch as a result.

Some had suspected that Fred had managed to worm his way into Hermione's heart for ulterior motives, but I didn't believe that to be true. Every instance that I saw of them together in Hogsmeade, they held nothing but pure love for each other in their eyes. Each hug, kiss, hand hold; it had been clear he'd adored her.

Even with pressing matters upon my mind in my sixth year, I'd found myself sneaking time away in Hogsmeade, just to catch a glimpse of the couple. I suspected that a part of me had been jealous, I suppose; jealous of the red haired man that managed to capture the heart of Hermione Granger.

It had gotten to the point where all I could think of was Granger holding _my_ hand; Granger kissing _my_ cheek; Granger cuddling up to _my_ side, Granger looking lovingly at only _me._

Blaise had picked up on it, and told me to focus on my tasks at hand, not on someone that would inevitably die in the upcoming war. I had dismissed his advice and carried a secret torch for Hermione, hoping that eventually she'd come to me.

But a part of me had wished that I had heeded his words and forgotten an imagined future with Granger, if only to spare myself the pain I felt for her now.

Blaise stirred, stretching his long legs in the armchair across from the desk. I sat up, not realizing I had sunk so low in the chair, and met his sleepy eyes when they opened after a few minutes.

"Draco?" His thick voice startled me as it had been too quiet for too long in the study, and my head jerked.

"Yes Blaise?" I replied, rubbing my temple.

"Fancy a drink?" Blaise grinned, and I just shook my head in disbelief, heading to the decanter anyway.

Blaise had a slight drinking problem, as in he had a whole bottle and a half of Odgen's a day. Originally, when Theo was still alive (we'd lost him to suicide a month ago; it seemed he didn't want anything to do with the world now that it had changed too greatly) he and I had monitored Blaise's drinking closely, to make sure he didn't end up like Daphne Greengrass, unconscious in an alleyway in old Knockturn and choking on his own vomit.

It seemed that many of our old housemates had succumbed to the dark side of themselves after the war, and there were only a few of us left that weren't in prison. One could guess it was that it was because we were snakes, cunning and evil; but when the game turned on us, we either fled or became hopelessly engrossed in nursing our wounded pride to (literally) death.

Even now, I didn't blame Blaise for wanting a stiff drink every day, if it meant one could fall into an easy and dead peaceful sleep.

"Did you have any at home?" I asked him carefully, knowing how defensive he got when I inquired about his drinking habits. I had to, especially after… Theo.

Blaise cocked an eyebrow, but answered me anyway. "I had four glasses this morning. None after that."

My eyes betrayed my skepticism, but I poured him one glass anyway. I found that I needed one after that dream I had about Granger, and although I really didn't want to enable Blaise, it wouldn't have been fair to drink in front of him.

I poured myself a glass as well and turned to hand Blaise his glass when the loud _whoosh_ came from the parlor. Someone had just Floo'ed to the Manor.

Blaise and I froze, automatically on high alert. Select people had access to this place: myself, Blaise, Theo, Mother, Aunt Andromeda and Teddy, and Pansy, but Theo was dead, Mother was staying at Aunt Andromeda's with her and Teddy, and Pansy…

The door to the study opened harshly, banging against the dark wood of the walls, and I sighed at the black haired witch now standing in my study, staring angrily at me.

"Hello Pansy, fancy a drink?" Blaise asked with a smile on his face; he knew why she was here.

Her nostrils flared in response as she stalked towards me, completely ignoring Blaise. I went to hug her, but recoiled when she struck me, right across my scar.

"Have you lost your bloody mind?!" Her shrill voice pierced my eardrums, and I was still reeling from the good smack she had placed on my face. She was tiny but damn, she could hurt people when she wanted to.

"And in what is this in relation to?" I straightened myself up, still rubbing my cheek. I pulled my hand away and saw a little blood.

So she _had_ broken the skin. Merlin, she really _was_ stronger than I thought.

"That- that Mudblood! You never responded to my Howler" -Blaise snickered and I glared at him- "so I thought I should risk imprisonment and come here to remind your daft self where _you_ stand in society and where _she_ stands!"

My hand tightened as she spat out the last part. Her venom was not directed towards me, but Hermione.

"Pansy-" I started, but she didn't give me time to finish myself.

"Draco, I don't want to hear it! I can't believe you; it seems the war really HAS warped your mind! Oh, to think of what would happen if your father were here! You want to _soil_ yourself with such dirty blood and I won't stand for it! That _slag-"_

I smacked her then, refusing to hear anymore slander against Hermione Granger.

The room was quiet, Pansy holding her cheek and facing away from me, and Blaise frozen, staring at the ground, drink all but forgotten. They had seen me angry before, but never angry enough to strike someone.

"Listen here, Pansy Parkinson. I can excuse your clinging to the old ideals, because I know its hard to get rid of them. And I can even excuse your father still being an avid Death Eater, even with that… demonic _man_ being gone." My voice got dangerously low, and Pansy flinched away from me as I stepped closer, leaning down to her ear.

"But what I will _not_ tolerate is any and all slander against Hermione Granger in my presence. _Are we clear?"_

Pansy nodded and began shaking, silent tears falling from her face.

My heart tightened and I ached to comfort my best friend of many years, but it wouldn't have done any good for me to touch her. So, I settled for sitting back down in my armchair, face in my hands.

I'd never struck a woman before, and the insurmountable guilt began eating at my very core. I was just as horrible as my father, and his father before him.

I willed my voice to work, and finally, it came, but it was scratchy and broken.

"I… I'm so sorry Pansy. I'm so… so sorry."

Pansy sniffed and stood up, her back straight and her chin in the air. Blaise and I watched as she left without a word, and the _whoosh_ a second later told me that I would never see Pansy Parkinson ever again.


	6. Speechless (Hermione's POV)

Here's another chapter! I havent updated this story in ages; life's been pretty crazy. I'm so thankful for all of you reading this; I really appreciate it!

* * *

"Hermione?"

I jolted from my position by the window, watching as the fog from my breath on the cool glass disappeared, no longer obscuring my view of the snowflakes falling outside.

"Hermione, we've sat here for thirty minutes and you haven't said a word. What's going on?" Head Healer Anita Johnson said, and I ignored her, choosing to stare out the window again.

I'd had another nightmare about Fred the night before, and I woke up in a cold sweat screaming wildly, or so Ginny had told me. It took Ron and Harry to hold me down and stop me from cursing everyone because I still thought I was at Hogwarts in the Battle.

The Weasleys and lone Harry had taken me immediately to St. Mungos to see my Head Healer, hoping it would give me a sense of clarity.

Anita Johnson was a Muggleborn like myself, and she understood the ins and outs of trauma. She'd lost her husband in the First Wizarding War, when she was pregnant with their firstborn at the mere age of twenty-two; not much older than when James and Lily Potter had lost their lives and left their only son behind.

After a couple of Death Eaters had stormed her house, torturing her until she lost her baby son in a late term miscarriage, she had taken up Head Healing, incorporating Muggle psychology tactics into traditional Wizarding practices, which had only included administering heavy sedative potions and restrictive and primitive measures against those that were mentally ill until she broke onto the scene.

In my opinion, all these things made it so that Anita was the only woman of caliber worth noting, apart from Molly Weasley, Lily Potter, and Minerva McGonagall.

And she always had a way of worming things out of me, like a human version of Veritaserum.

"Hermione."

My eyes slowly traveled to her shockingly blue patient and kind ones, and I sighed.

"I dreamt about him again. Fred. This time I woke up thinking I was still in the Battle." My voice broke and a sob threatened to come up from my throat. "Instead of him dying where I couldn't see him, he was tortured to death right in front of me."

A hand found my shoulder and rubbed gently, and I broke, turning to the older woman and collapsing in her arms, heart wrenching cries tearing from my throat.

Anita rubbed my back, her voice calm. "Hermione, you need to talk about him more. Bottling it up only makes you toxic, and it could be causing your frequent nightmares."

I sniffed and pulled away gently, wiping my eyes with a handkerchief. "I know. Its painful sometimes though."

She gave me a small, knowing smile. "Pain is what gives us strength. But we can't use that strength if we don't convert that pain into useful energy."

I could only stare at the older woman, with her knowing eyes and quiet demeanor. She had overcome the worst of it all, and here I was sniveling over a man.

She understood, though. She understood how hard it was for anyone to lose someone they loved. And I think that's why I let her in so easily, because she knew.

I left thirty minutes later with two new bottles of my anti anxiety potion and a clear mind. I Apparated to Diagon Alley, hoping to finally buy the book I needed that day I ran into Draco Malfoy.

I cringed at the memory of the incident. Something about the way he looked at me unsettled me, and not in a 'butterflies in your stomach' sort of way.

It made me feel like I was being scrutinized, analyzed, like some lab rat.

It puzzled me as to what sparked Draco Malfoy's morbid curiosity with me. All those years he spent tormenting me and and my friends, constantly commenting- no, _snidely_ remarking- my status as a Muggleborn. The Draco Malfoy I knew would have recoiled at my touch, not willingly put his arms around me or shove a potion down my throat to calm me.

In fact, he would have mocked my misery and openly laughed at my pain with that horrible, jagged, red scar of his.

Flashback

 _I had subsided in my sobs over Fred and had slipped into a state of numbness when I looked up and saw the scared blonde._

 _He didnt know which way to go, as his father had instantly been captured and magically shackled to the numerous other Death Eaters that hadn't fled shortly after our victory._

 _For the first time in my seven years of knowing Draco Malfoy, I had never seen him look so vulnerable and lost like he did now. He resembled not an 18 year old smug man, but a small, lost boy looking for guidance in a new world he had no clue how to navigate._

 _A sharp cry emitted from the line of Death Eaters, and a flash of blue light obscured my vision briefly as a Death Eater I presumed to be Goyle's father broke free of his chains and flew at Draco, screeching loudly, dagger drawn._

 _Draco didn't see him coming and couldn't pull his wand out fast enough, but I could have._

 _I watched, indifferent and numb as Goyle's father slashed the platinum blonde from cheek to chin, ruby blood gushing from his face, a wail piercing the sudden stillness of the courtyard._

" _TRAITOR! COWARD! YOU LEFT MY BOY TO DIE IN THAT ROOM!" Goyle's father screamed, and a few Aurors instantly immobilized him, dragging him away and leaving Draco Malfoy crying on the ground, clutching his once unmarred face, alone and helpless._

 _Alone, helpless, and now equally scarred as the rest of us._

End Flashback

I still shuddered at the memory of that day. It reminded me that not everyone left the Battle with unmarked skin or minds. Even the losing side had multiple casualties of the non mortal coil kind.

I never felt sorry for Draco. My hatred of him and increased tenfold, in fact, after that incident. The way he had cried for someone to help him made me sick; sick to my stomach that he would even dare ask for leniency and kindness after all of the horrible things he and his side had done.

Everyone had felt the same way too, it would seem. Because it had taken thirty minutes for anyone to do anything about the bleeding, and even then, Madame Pomfrey treated his wound with a sour yet blank look on her face.

I guess we had all still been in shock, realizing then that the worst of it had been over. That Draco Malfoy's attack had told us all we needed to know.

The Dark had crumbled, caved in on itself, and we stood as victors of a new, fair world.

But yet, we could have cared less.

I walked into the doors of Flourish and Blotts, and gave a smile to the kind cashier. She never bothered me or pestered me when I took too long finding a book. She reminded me so much of Madame Pince; it had been sad to lose her shortly after the victory.

I browsed the shelves and made my way to the back of the shop, looking for books on trauma and magic, only to run into a tall, thick body.

Having a penchant for running into people I didn't like, I fearfully looked up at the person I collided with and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw none other than Neville Longbottom.

"Neville!" I said, hugging him tightly. "I'm glad to see you!"

A smile broke out on his face as he hugged me back, so tightly that I couldn't breathe, but I didn't care.

Neville had always been close comfort for me; simply because he was much smarter than he let on. The constant verbal abuse he had suffered from his grandmother had made him this vulnerable, second-guessing boy that wouldn't dare speak out of turn, or flaunt his intelligence, for fear he would be mocked and scorned.

After he had killed Nagini, it was like he had broken free from all that pain and insecurity. He had shown strength even after the battle, helping to tend the wounds of those with plants he had scrounged up from the greenhouses, or what was left of them at least.

"Hermione, I haven't seen you in months!" He pulled away and held me by my arms, no doubt looking over me to see if I was eating and well. It was such a Neville thing to do; put others before himself. "How have you been?"

I shrugged. "Relatively okay I guess. I'm seeing a Head Healer."

Neville nodded in understanding. "Is it Johnson? She's very good at what she does."

I nodded, glancing at the books he held in his hands.

"' _The Herbologists Guide To Plants and Potions For Mental Maladies_ '? ' _The Modern Wizard's Book of Notable Healers'_? ' _Magical Boundaries: The Breakthrough of Muggle and Wizard Medicine'_? Those are oddly specific books, Neville." I remarked, and he blushed a deep scarlet.

"I'm not supposed to say anything, but I was offered a place at St. Mungo's studying under Healer Johnson. I was hoping to use my expertise in the greenhouse and help invent new potions and cures for many Wizarding mental issues," Neville explained excitedly, his eyes lighting up like a child's on Christmas morning. "After I study for a few years I either have the option of staying and becoming a full time Head Healer or returning to Hogwarts as a professor in Herbology!"

"That's great Neville! I'm so proud of you!" I hugged him tightly, a smile wide on my face.

"Thank you Hermione, I really appreciate it," he replied back, rubbing my back and pulling away. "What about you? Have you decided whether or not you want to go into the Ministry or back to Hogwarts?"

The smile I had faded slowly, as Neville had struck a chord in me. I really hadn't given one thought as to what I was going to do after the War. I was only eighteen, and I never finished my Hogwarts education. Returning to the Muggle world wasn't an option, as I didn't go to school there, and I would miss my magic too much to never use it.

I didn't want to go into the Ministry as many people thought I would. I had done my part in the war; had practically dedicated half my life to it. I had lost any and all ambition in the face of the violence I saw and endured, and I couldn't see myself working a desk job anytime soon.

Hogwarts, on the other hand… I had never considered that an option either. Returning for my final year and sitting my exams wasn't a bad idea, but I didn't know if I could really face the castle after everything that happened.

"I… I don't really know, Neville. I've been fighting for so long and so hard that I didn't give a thought to my future. I thought I'd either live to be broken or die in battle," I said, realizing a split second later how dark that was in a light hearted conversation.

Neville's demeanor changed instantly, one of sorrow and understanding. "I didn't really think of how much you three gave to this world, and how it would affect you." He looked towards the floor. "I feel slightly mortified for asking you that."

I shook my head, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Neville, its alright. You understand and you see me, Harry and Ron not just as war heroes, but as people. That's all that matters."

Neville smiled meekly, patting my hand on his shoulder. "You're too kind and understanding for this world, Hermione Granger. It doesn't deserve such a great witch like you."

I blushed but smiled, my heart warming. Neville Longbottom saw and understood the world in ways that I couldn't, and I was grateful he was there to say the right things.

Neville adjusted his books and I let go of him. "I think I'd better be off, Hermione. It was nice seeing you." He gave me a quick hug and a friendly kiss on the cheek, understanding in his eyes.

I nodded and watched as he left, wondering how the world could be graced with such a kind and gentle soul.

I continued on my way, browsing the bookshelves until I found the book I was looking for:

 _Loss: How It Affects The Magical Brain_

"Interesting book choice."

I turned around quickly, startled by the sudden voice in my ear. I came face to face with Draco Malfoy and my stomach plummeted.

Instead of running, I decided I would confront him.

"What do you want from me, Malfoy? Why are you so nice to me?" I spat, glaring at him.

His customary sneer that would usually appear during our confrontations never made an appearance; in fact, he looked uneasy and surprised. "I-"

He looked at a loss for words. I almost pitied him for his dumbstruck expression, but then I remembered that he was _Draco Malfoy._

"Well?" I pressed, my fingers dancing across my wand in its holster.

He stammered, then closed his mouth. He stared, as if struggling to find his words for a minute, until he gave up and turned on his heel and walked away from me and out of the bookstore.

I watched him leave, dumbfounded. Never in a million years had I ever left Malfoy absolutely speechless and retreating.

What had changed?


	7. October and December 1996 (Part One)

AN: This is the beginning of the chapters about Fred/Hermione/Draco's past relationships and interactions at Hogwarts with each other before the Battle and present time. These will always be in third person and labeled accordingly with time stamps. Some will be out of order, depending on the events of the previous or future chapters.

* * *

 _October 1996_

"Ginny? What are you doing?"

Ginny Weasley looked up from her furious scribbling, meeting Hermione's eyes. "Writing a letter. Ron's being a prat, and if Fred catches wind of him doing you dirty like he did, he'll sort him out." She went back to writing. "Plus I really don't like Lavender, and I don't fancy having her as a future sister-in-law."

Hermione just watched blankly as Ginny finished the last of her letter, folding it and putting it in an envelope. She didn't understand why Fred would have any sort of influence over Ron (apart from holding that incident where he and George transfigured Ron's teddy bear into a giant spider over Ron's head when he royally ticked them off), but nevertheless, Hermione wasn't one for revenge, even if it would bring her the greatest satisfaction. This was Ginny's dish, not hers.

Ginny motioned for Hermione to follow her out of the portrait hole as she wound her scarf tightly around her neck, making their way to the Owlery.

When the large owl landed in front of Ron the following Monday, everyone was pleasantly surprised with the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes package he'd received, hoping it was sweets he would share with the Gryffindor table.

Harry watched as Ron tore open the package, a grin on his face when he saw the contents.

"Cool!" Ron said, pulling out several small brightly wrapped sweets. "Fred and George sent me some of their new products!"

Harry snorted. "Are you sure they aren't trying to poison you?"

Ron shook his head. "Fred and George would have no reason to. Plus," he picked up a small neon orange candy, biting into it, "they can't all be that bad even if they were trying to poison me."

Just down the table, a smug Ginny and horrified Hermione watched as Ron turned white, before finally sprouting tufts of hair, small ears, and a long tail, making him resemble…

Well… a rat.

Hermione oddly had a sense of deja vu watching the transformation, when suddenly a letter was dropped in front of her.

Curious, she opened it, instantly smelling sandalwood and jasmine, and she read the script elegantly penned onto the golden brown parchment.

 _ **For you, Granger. Hope you enjoyed the show.**_

 _ **-F (and G!)**_

 _ **P.S. Thanks for the inspiration, by the way. You made a great cat; Ron makes an even greater rat.**_

A small blush crept up her cheeks, and a giggle escaped her throat as she watched Lavender run screaming down the aisle, Ron crawling after her, his long nose and whiskers a source of amusement for everyone in the Great Hall.

 _December 1996_

He reread the letter over and over again, running his fingers over her delicate cursive.

It had been five weeks since he'd sent the Polyjuice infused sweets to Ron as an act of revenge for Hermione, and Fred couldn't believe his luck when it came to her. He felt like the luckiest man in the world to be connected with the brilliant witch, and he'd known from the first time he met her, he'd do anything to protect her.

Not that she needed protecting, no; she was capable of taking care of herself, he knew that.

But he felt protective and loving when it came to her nonetheless.

He skimmed the letter again, smiling when he read about her irritation with Harry being impartial about their relationship, with Ron ignoring her (and his lingering tail), and her studies. She was much too smart and mature to be in Hogwarts, Fred thought. He loved that about her; it's what set her apart, made her unique and level headed.

"Fred?"

Fred quickly folded the letter and gently put it in his desk, turning around to face his twin. "Yes, George?"

"That old hag is back, trying to nick love potions again. What do you want to do?"

Fred sighed and followed his twin out of the office door, Hermione on his mind as he dealt with the screeching old woman.

8888888

Romilda had taken to cornering Hermione at odd times, questioning her about Harry, and Hermione was sick of it.

It seemed as if _everyone_ viewed her as some sort of encyclopedia that they could just… _consult!_ Especially when it came to matters concerning homework or Harry!

Hermione huffed as she saw the dark, curly haired witch veer in her direction, a deranged twinkle in her eyes, and Hermione scurried as fast as she could into the nearest classroom, slamming the door behind her.

She missed Fred; he hadn't written since his letter inviting her over to the Weasleys for Christmas. He always knew what to say to her when she was having a bad time.

She sighed and rested her forehead against the hard wooden door, taking a few deep breaths to collect herself, when she heard a rustling.

She whipped around, suddenly cautious. Even though she was in Hogwarts, she knew she couldn't be too safe; tensions outside of the school had begun to escalate and it was only a matter of time before it spilled into the stone walls of the castle.

Hermione pulled out her wand, realizing that she wasn't in a classroom like she originally thought; but in the Room of Requirement.

Except, it didn't look like it did last year. It was _filled_ with random things; no doubt possessions and furniture that had been forgotten in the school over the years.

Hermione briefly forgot her wariness, instead marveling at the room.

It wasn't until she saw a flash of platinum blonde peeking from behind a termite infested bookcase that she was back on guard, pointing her wand in that general direction.

"Who's here?" She called out, her voice strong and unafraid.

Silence met her, so she asked again.

"Who is here?"

A pale hand curled around the side of the bookcase, and Draco Malfoy slowly came out from behind, wand drawn, a solemn expression on his pale face.

Hermione hissed. "Malfoy."

Draco only jerked his head in acknowledgment of his name. "Granger. Have you come to spy on me for Potter?"

Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"I hear things in the hallways. In libraries. I know Potter suspects me to be something that I am not."

Hermione tilted her chin. "Even if I was, why would I tell you? Just so you could curse me, and prove once and for all that you are what he suspects you to be: a Death Eater?"

Draco winced, but quickly regained his composure, chuckling mirthfully. "Now, why would I want to curse you, Granger? Sure, no one would find you here," Hermione scowled, her grip tightening on her wand, but Draco continued on anyway, "but then everyone would wonder where one-third of the Golden Trio ran off to. Perhaps," he smiled facetiously, "they would think you ran off with the Weasley twin."

Hermione stepped forward, her eyes fiery. "Don't you talk about him."

Draco lowered his wand, chuckling as he backed away slowly, his grey eyes boring into Hermione's brown ones as curiosity flickered in their murky depths.

"I'll be seeing you Granger. Be careful." And he was gone, leaving a bewildered Hermione in his wake.

* * *

AN: I know there wasn't much Fremione in this flashback chapter, but the next one will be more inclusive since it will be Christmas at the Burrow.


	8. December 1996 (Part Two)

**_The Burrow, Christmas 1996_**

Fred's foot gently brushed Hermione's leg under the table, and a crimson blush rushed into her cheeks when she met his eyes.

Fred grinned knowingly, and pulled out his wand underneath the table, magicking the note he'd written earlier into Hermione's hand.

Hermione's eyes widened, hoping no one had seen the magical note appear in her fingers. She looked around the table and saw no one had given her the slightest of notice.

She opened the note, and smiled, watching out of the corner of her eye as Fred excused himself from the table.

 _Meet me in the garden for your Christmas present, love._

 _-Fred._

Waiting for a few moments, she excused herself as well, trying not to giggle as the Weasley matriarch raised an eyebrow at her departure.

No doubt Molly knew that Hermione was stealing away to rendezvous with Fred, and Hermione knew if Molly thought it to be untoward, she would've said something.

Smirking, she left the room and walked out the door and towards the garden, away from Molly's eyes and every else's ears.

The brisk air hit her face, and she quickly cast a warming spell on herself, sighing when it enveloped her like a thick jumper.

Her gaze slipped towards the giant oak tree standing tall and proud in the garden, and smiled at the figure leaned up against it. Fred stood by the oak, staring up into the starry sky, snowflakes coating his soft, ginger hair, giving him the appearance of a white haired old man, and Hermione couldn't help but let out a small giggle.

Fred turned around, his brow arched. "What's so funny?"

Hermione walked closer, planting a soft kiss on his lips, circling her arms around his waist. "You look like Father Christmas with all that snow in your hair."

Fred laughed, shaking his head gently, and Hermione gasped as the snowflakes fell on her, the bits of cold seeming to nip at her warming charm.

"I guess that's the second time in my life that I've aged within minutes, but I prefer not to have a white beard anytime soon," Fred replied, pulling Hermione closer to his chest, breathing in her gentle, honeydew scent.

It was quiet for a few moments as they stood under the oak tree, until Hermione brought up Fred's note.

"So, what's all this about a Christmas present?" She said, smiling as she pulled away, and Fred smirked.

"Well, the thing is, Hermione," Fred paused, rummaging around his pockets, and sighed when he couldn't locate whatever he was looking for.

"It seems as if I've forgotten part of it, but this will work just the same."

Hermione gasped as Fred waved his wand, and the garden lit up with magical red lily bells, and he knelt before her, his large and calloused hand enveloping her soft small one.

"Hermione Jean Granger, I know it's not been long, and I know we're both still young, but I love you more than words can say. The moment my heart first touched yours, I knew it would always belong to you, just as my life does. No one else has managed to open my entire world just as much as you have, and I couldn't imagine anyone else endeavoring to do so," Fred paused, smiling up at a teary eyed Hermione, kissing her knuckles and he continued.

"I cherish every smile, kiss, touch, and word that you've given me, and it's enough to make me believe in a higher power. You are heaven sent, and I fall in love with you more and more every day. Being away from you for any extended period of time makes my heart ache, and I know that something is coming, and you'll have to leave, but before you do, I want to make sure I'll always be by your side even when I'm not. I never want to let you go again. So, with that being said," Fred paused, swallowing nervously, "would you do me the honor of marrying me, after all of this is over?"

Hermione smiled, tears pouring down her face as she nodded. "Yes!"

Fred grinned widely, standing up and smothering Hermione in a tight hug, peppering her face in kisses as she laughed.

"I love you so much, Hermione. Never forget that when you're away."

Hermione nodded, the tears of joy quickly turning into tears of sorrow, as she realized Fred was right.

Harry and Ron hadn't given it much thought, but Hermione had. With everything cultivating towards an inevitable war, Hermione knew she'd only be safe on the run. It was a truth she'd accepted the moment Cedric Diggory had turned up out of the maze, murdered by Voldemort's right hand man.

She knew she'd only be able to protect the ones she loved if she left, hoping to find a way to bring the end of a dark era, and she could only do that with Harry and Ron.

She was stirred out of her mournful thoughts as Fred kissed her fiercely, and felt herself get lost in his kiss, her body flying, her lips tingling as the ginger man pulled away, a sly smile on his face.

"And they said I'd never steal a kiss from your sweet lips, Hermione Granger." Fred said lowly, planting a small kiss on her forehead.

Hermione, still reeling from the kiss, could only muster a small whimper and a sniff as she wiped her eyes.

Finally, she found her voice. "Who says it's stealing if I was willingly giving it to you?"

Fred chuckled, and continued to sway with his sweet witch as the lily bells rang upon them, both blissfully ignoring the impending events that would seek to separate them in time.

A/N: I know it's really soon for Fred to propose, and I know it would be unlike Hermione to even remotely accept, but just bear with me here. Remember, Dramione is end game, even if Fremione seems a lot cuter and less broody!


	9. Brewing (Draco’s POV)

A/N: Back to our regular storyline!

"I'm such an imbecile!" I cried out, my angry voice echoing in the large parlor of the manor.

Blaise watched as I sunk to my knees, pounding the cold marble floor with my fists. My hands hurt, but I didn't care; the shame I felt at myself for being so flustered and idiotic when I ran into Hermione outweighed any physical damage I caused myself.

Blaise sighed behind me, the clink of a glass on the small table by the entryway punctuating his approach to me.

"Draco…" He put his hand on my shoulder, and I scowled. "I think you need to give up on this idea of… a future, with Granger. Its obvious she doesn't want anything to do with you."

I shrugged out from underneath his hand, standing up and straightening my suit. "It's not that simple, Blaise. I want her so badly that it _hurts_."

Blaise just shook his head. "You don't even _know_ her, Draco. You have this idea of her in your mind that you want, but she's not like that. Hermione Granger is… She's different. She's vastly different and more complex than this one dimensional, _'oh we'll be happy together'_ idea you have of her."

I frowned. "That's not what I was thinking at all."

"It is, Draco. You don't know a single thing about her except for the surface. And its obvious she doesn't want you anywhere near her true self. Just… pursue a different dream, Draco. One where Hermione Granger has no part in it." Blaise finished and walked out of the room, brandy glass in hand.

I watched him leave, irritation flaring my mood and leaving me with a sour taste in my mouth.

Even if Blaise was right, I had gotten close enough to make her burst. To ask, inquire. I would gradually get Hermione to let me in, but in that moment I had been too surprised to even press further.

The heat, the fire behind her eyes was enthralling. It had reminded me of the time she had stumbled into the Room of Requirement whilst I was fixing the Vanishing Cabinet. It scared me, but made me even more obsessed with her.

Obsessed might not be the right word, more or less enthralled.

Hermione Granger was untouchable, by anyone's standards, not just Pureblood. She was too smart, too witty, too quick. She could predict your next move before you even thought of it; nothing was a surprise to her.

Except for me. I was the only thing she couldn't predict; something she couldn't quite figure out.

And for that, I was glad. It would make it so much easier to keep her interested, to let her in. I wanted nothing more than to flay myself open and let her see every inch of my soul, let her figure me out like a mystery. She was the only exception.

The roaring whoosh of the fireplace brought me out of my mind as my mother stepped through, pristine as ever, a horrified look on her face.

Bewildered, I quickly strode over to her, taking her hands into mine. "Mother? What's wrong?"

She could only blankly look at me, before glancing toward a nearby chair, and collapsing in it.

"Mother?!" I knelt in front of her, worriedly watching her as she began hyperventilating.

"BLAISE!" I cried out, grabbing my mother's face and rubbing it, hoping to bring her down a bit before I could administer any sort of anxiety potion.

"BLAISE! Bring me my anxiety potion!"

A loud clattering echoed in the hall and Blaise ran into the grand room, breathless.

"Draco, what is it?!"

"My potion, bring me my potion in the desk drawer in the study! Or else my mother is going to hyperventilate herself into unconsciousness!" I yelled, and Blaise scurried towards the study as I held my shaking mother.

"Mother, look at me, look at me! There you go, yes, now listen to my voice, hear my breathi— BLAISE!"

Blaise tripped as he flew back into the room, clutching the small vial of calming draught I kept for occasions like this.

I snatched it from him and undid the stopper, pouring it down my mother's throat before she lost consciousness.

Mother's breathing evened out as the oxygen flowed through her lungs normally again, and she let out a strangled sob, dread tainting her dark eyes.

"Draco… oh, Draco… your father…" she sobbed, clutching my shirt.

My heart sank, for the next thing she said could only be one of two things: that my father was finally dead, or that he had escaped from Azkaban.

I hoped for the former, since he'd no longer be rotting away in a tiny cell in Azkaban, and he'd no long be an overbearing influence in our lives.

But I feared the latter to be true.

"What? What is it?" I said, and Mother sniffed, her bottom lip trembling.

"Your father has escaped. He's escaped Azkaban."

A/N: So, I guess you all get two half chapters! I've been stuck on writing this story for a while now, but inspiration struck yet again! Hopefully I complete this one, because I geniuinely enjoy writing this story above all of my other ones. Anyway, thanks for reading!


	10. Hysteria (Hermione’s POV)

_Hysteria (noun): exaggerated or uncontrollable emotion or excitement, especially among a group of people._

Hysteria. I'd learned that word long ago, when I first picked up the Oxford English Dictionary in my father's study at the age of seven.

I'd long become acquainted with instances of the word when I first heard Voldemort's name whispered fearfully amongst witches and wizards, and the reactions hit spot on with hysteria.

I even got used to seeing hysteria in action after the Battle, when the joy and excitement had worn off and everyone was left with sorrow and panic at all they had lost.

It was a word I never thought I'd have to use to describe daily life in the Wizarding World ever again, but as Harry, Ron, and I looked at the front page of the Daily Prophet, my heart sank as the word resurfaced yet again in my life.

 ** _Mass Hysteria: Azkaban Prisoners Missing After Storm_**

Harry was the first one to speak, and his voice trembled as he did so.

"Missing? How can you lose prisoners after a fucking storm?" Harry said, clenching his fists as he shook.

I held his arm, hoping he wouldn't fly into another spell again, as Ron picked up the paper and began to read.

 _"'Azkaban and Ministry officials held a conference today to speak about three prisoners that managed to escape during a hurricane that rocked the prisons walls._

 _'Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt gave a statement, saying that the three prisoners are as follows: Adrian Pucey, Vincent Crabbe, and Lucius Malfoy, whose son Draco Malfoy and wife Narcissa have been cleared of any wrongdoing before the Wizengamot._

 _'The public is advised to take precaution and report to the nearest official if these men are spotted, as they are highly dangerous and possibly armed.'"_

My heart sank further into my chest as I realized that this was no ordinary storm that had hit the wizarding prison. No ordinary hurricane could destroy the walls of three certain prisoners cells, and release them back into society.

Harry and Ron must have realized the same thing, because we all looked at each other in unison.

We had all come to the realization that our momentary peace after the war was about to be upended, and we would be drawn in yet again to fight the dark.

8888

I knocked on the door to George's flat, hoping that today I wouldn't encounter anymore explosions, or loud noises for that matter.

To my bewilderment, it was not George who had answered the door, but my fellow former classmate, Angelina Johnson.

"Oh, hello Hermione! I haven't seen you in ages!" Angelina said, inviting me in and hugging me after she had closed the door.

"It's been a while," I replied, reluctantly hugging her back. It's not that I wasn't pleased to see her, I just couldn't bear any unnecessary physical contact.

Angelina just smiled, motioning me towards the kitchen. "Come on. He's just through here."

I followed her, puzzled. What was Angelina doing in George's flat?

"Would you like a cuppa? I was just about to make some for me and George," Angelina said, pouring the kettle into two mugs.

"Erm, sure," I said, sitting down at the table.

Just then, George emerged from the bedroom, wearing nothing but his boxers and a toothbrush in his mouth.

He didn't seem to notice my presence at the table, because he immediately walked over to Angelina and gave her a toothpastey kiss, and murmured a muffled, "Morning, luv."

I cleared my throat just as he was about to slink his hands somewhere highly inappropriate, and he jolted, smiling awkwardly as his eyes rested on me.

"Oh hey, Mione. I didn't think I was going to be expecting you this morning!"

I snorted, looking pointedly towards his boxers. "Apparently so."

He blushed a deep red, mumbling _bollocks_ as he sped back into the bedroom, emerging a few minutes later in a green jumper and baggy blue jeans.

"What brings you here today, my sweet little sister?" George said, taking the mug Angelina had offered him and sitting next to me at the table.

"Erm. Well…" I cleared my throat and looked toward Angelina, who just smiled in understanding.

"I'll leave you two to talk," she said, and took her mug and a copy of the _Prophet_ to the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

I looked to George, smirking. "Before I even address what I came here to talk about, do you I mind telling me what's going on with you and Angelina?"

George pretended not to hear me; instead, he scratched his nonexistent ear and hummed softly to himself as he checked off a list of what I presumed to be inventory.

I pressed further. "Georgie? Hellooo?"

His face twitched, and he sighed, setting his pen down.

"If you must inquire… Angelina and I are kind of seeing each other, so it would seem." George said, picking up the pen again and going back to checking things off.

Satisfied, I dropped the topic, and ventured into my own reasons for being at the flat.

"So, I don't know if you've been reading the papers, but Lucius Malfoy has escaped Azkaban."

George flinched, but kept checking things off. "I'm well aware."

"Well, I need your help with something, something really incredibly stupid and dangerous." I took a deep breath as George picked up his mug.

"I need you to help me break into Azkaban."

George promptly spit out the gulp of tea he had taken and sputtered as he looked at me.

"Help you _what_?! Mione, that's insane! What insane purpose do you need to break into Azkaban?" He withdrew his wand from his pockets to clean up the mess he made, and stood up to take his mug to the sink.

I stood up and followed him, hands on my hips. "I can't get in otherwise, George. War hero or not, how would it look to the public if I were to march up to Azkaban and demand entrance? Everyone in the wizarding world would completely go nuts!"

George laughed darkly, running his mug under the tap. "I think we all already are, thanks much. And you even more so for cooking up this half cocked, not to mention inarguably _batshit_ idea!"

I scoffed, crossing my arms. "When have I ever gone wrong, George? Something tells me that this storm wasn't ordinary, and I know you're thinking the same thing!"

"Of course I do, but that doesn't give me license to plot to break into the most dangerous building in the entire country! What would the Order think? They'd never approve! Besides," Fred turned, leaning his back against the counter, "what do I have to offer you to help in this attempt?"

I smiled, looking towards the back room. "You have explosions each and everyday, George. Something tells me you have enough to offer me as a distraction for my way in."

George laughed. "You managed to break into Gringotts in the middle of a war using only the hair of a crazy witch and a batch of Polyjuice Potion. Why not use the same technique, instead use a bit of a Ministry official?"

I groaned. "Because, George, the only Ministry official that has definite clearance to enter Azkaban just so happens to _not have hair,_ or have you forgotten?"

George laughed even harder. "Okay, you've got me there. But why me? Why my products?"

"Because…" I said, walking towards his back room, "...yours aren't registered with the ministry just yet, and they aren't considered weaponry because they haven't been used as such, so they're definitely not on the Azkaban watch list."

George followed after me, and I picked up a small, bomb looking thing with a very long fuse at the top.

"What is this?" I asked, and George snatched it from me.

"Something highly dangerous, even for you and me. I haven't perfected it yet, but I call it a Time Bomb." He set it down as his words sunk in and I gasped.

"You… but I thought that kind of magic was only accessible using a Time Turner?"

"It just so happens, my dear Hermione, that I've managed to create a bit of magic similar to that of a Time Tuner." He stood up, grabbing a stack of papers layered one over the other and handed them to me. "But instead of going back in time, you stop it momentarily, but not for long. You see," he pointed at the fuse, which I noticed was marked with little black lines, each ten centimeters apart, "you light the fuse, and it slow burns in accordance to the time limit. After the time limit is up, depending on whether you hurry the process along or let it burn, the bomb explodes, and everything around you in a 100 mile radius returns to the normal timeline."

"How long is the time limit?" I asked and George grimaced.

"The time limit is an hour and twenty minutes, and not a second longer. Any time after that might warp your own reality to that of a still life painting."

I smiled, glad that George had picked up on muggle art terminology. "Have you tested it?"

George tsked. "I've only gone thirty minutes before. It was too risky the first time, because I could've gotten stuck within the hour and never came back, but that was only the first prototype. This is the second, and it's never been tested before."

I smiled, and looked at the tiny bomb in George's hands. "Fred would've loved this, messing with time."

George nodded, and I smiled sadly, picking at my fingernails. Thinking about Fred had gotten a tiny less harder, but it still made me sad.

"So, George, knowing the risks, I'm still willing to take it."

His face stiffened, and he shook his head. "Absolutely not. I won't let you risk it."

I arched an eyebrow. "George, it's for the greater good and you know it. The Ministry doesn't know what they're doing, and as fond as I am of Kingsley, in this instance I don't trust his judgement." I held out my hand, waiting. "So please, just trust me that I know what I'm doing."

George looked conflicted for a minute before reluctantly handing over the Time Bomb, grimacing as I put it in my pocket.

"If you die or get stuck in time, Hermione, I'll find you and kick your ass myself." George said, giving me a hug.

"I know George. I'll be careful, I promise." I murmured, rubbing his back. "I'll always come back to you and you know it."

George nodded, giving me a kiss on the cheek, and let me go. "I guess I should let you get to it. See you whenever, Hermione." And with that, he walked out of the room and closed the door.

I pulled the Time Bomb out of my pocket and examined it, fascinated with the magic George had put into it.

It made me wonder what the purpose of creating it had been, and my heart sank as I thought of Fred, and I came to the answer all on my own.

Maybe George had been developing this magic to go back in time and stop Fred from dying, to prevent my heartbreak and his from losing the most important person in our lives.

With this thought in my head, I Apparated back to the Burrow, to talk to Harry about my plan, and to hopefully put a stop to whatever dark forces would seek to tear my world apart again.


End file.
